


just another graceless night

by oopshidaisy



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Detective Comics (Comics)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Caretaking, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopshidaisy/pseuds/oopshidaisy
Summary: Cass doesn’t make a sound when she’s in pain.
Relationships: Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain
Comments: 12
Kudos: 82





	just another graceless night

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'perfect places' by lorde
> 
> this is canon compliant with the 2016 run of detective comics, except for how it's in a universe where steph and tim are just friends

“I wake up some nights and she’s at the TV watching ballet. Some mornings I wake up and there’s just blood on the sofa.” –Stephanie Brown, _Detective Comics #935_

Cass doesn’t make a sound when she’s in pain. And that’s weird, because – well, other people might think of Cass as some sort of entirely silent ninja, but Steph knows the pleased hum Cass makes when she’s happy, the low grunt that only comes out during the most strenuous of fights, the sigh of frustration, and the curl of her voice around the few words she deems necessary to speak. Cass is a whole symphony for anyone who takes the time to listen.

Except when she’s hurt. When she’s hurt – _really_ hurt, beyond a few scrapes and bruises – something about Cass shuts off, retreats inwards. Steph doesn’t know if it’s her training or what, but it’s scary as fuck, every single time.

How she got through Steph’s window this time, Steph has no idea. She all but collapses onto the carpet as soon as she’s in, limbs crumpling without a hint of the grace Steph associates with Cass.

There’s blood coming from _somewhere_ , but Cass is still in costume, right down to the mask that covers her entire head, and it’s difficult to work out where it’s coming from. Steph manages to muffle her sound of alarm under her hand, and then she pulls herself together and scoops Cass into her arms. It’s not too much of a struggle; Cass is the same height as Steph, but she’s lighter, deceptively slight for someone Steph has personally seen send all two-hundred-and-ten pounds of Batman crashing to the ground.

She deposits Cass on the sofa and carefully peels the mask off her face.

Cass’ eyes are open, but there’s a glassiness to them that sends Steph’s already panicked heartbeat thudding into her throat, and her cheek’s swelling into what she can already tell will be a nasty bruise.

“Right,” she says to herself. “You’re going to be okay. I’m just gonna get the first aid kit from the bathroom, we’ll get you all fixed up.”

Of course, her first aid kit is significantly better stocked than the average person’s.

By the time she gets back to the living room, arms loaded with everything she could possibly need, Cass is halfway out of her costume. Her hands are shaking with the effort of pulling it off, and Steph rushes to her side to help, cataloging visible injuries as she does. Mostly bruising, the kind that’s going to make it difficult to move for days. But there’s also a wound scraped across Cass’ abdomen, steadily leaking blood.

“Why is it always _sword fights_ , with you?” Steph mutters, because there’s no mistaking the kind of weapon that’s done this. Cass still gives no indication of having heard her.

The new wound crosses awkwardly across a collection of scars from Cass’ childhood training. Seeing them makes Steph wish David Cain was still alive, just so she could kill him all over again.

She works mostly in silence, smoothing cream over the worst of the bruises and cleaning the gash, in the hope that the quiet will be of some comfort to Cass. She’s tried it the other way before, chattering away about anything that crosses her mind, but she’d realized quickly that it was more for her benefit than Cass’.

Getting the wound cleaned is simple, if time-consuming, but Steph can see it’s going to need stitches. She steels herself – how anyone does this every day is _beyond_ her – and threads a disinfected needle.

“Sorry,” she says, “this is going to hurt.”

“Okay.”

She blinks and drops the needle onto her lap before looking up. Cass’ eyes are clearer, and the word is delivered in her unique way, infused with more meaning than it ever normally would be. Cass says _okay_ and Steph hears _I trust you_. And no matter that it’s not exactly new information – Cass would never have started using Steph’s place as a crash pad if there’d been any doubt of trust – to hear it still sends a soft thrill through Steph, a bone-deep certainty that she would give her life for this girl, and Cass would give hers in return.

“Good to have you back,” she says.

Cass’ answering smile is more a twitch of her lips than anything, but Steph sees it for what it is. She touches a finger to the corner of Cass’ mouth before she can think to stop herself.

And – Cass is still hurt, still prone and bloody on Steph’s couch, but she grasps Steph’s hand in her own and presses a kiss to the palm of it, soft and sweet and the opposite of the way most people get to see Cass.

There’s something like a montage flashing through Steph’s head. When Cass had first started coming here, she’d been every bit the silent badass, blending into the dark material of the sofa and scarcely making a sound. And then, gradually, Steph had gotten to see the Cass behind the layers of violence and stoicism. She’d found out that Cass favors takeout from the Thai place two blocks over, but that she’ll go for pizza in a pinch. Cass likes mint chocolate chip ice cream and no other flavors; Steph always makes sure to stock up when she’s grocery shopping these days. Cass loves musicals, and she’d let Steph see her crying at _La La Land_. A few months ago, Steph had started coming home to find Cass already asleep, curled up in Steph’s bed. She was wearing what’s always under the suit: a sensible sports bra and briefs. Steph is beginning to think she’d misread that. She’d thought of Cass as a sort of human cat, slowly becoming more comfortable in her newfound territory. She ought to have known better.

In the end, leaning down and closing the distance between them feels simple, inevitable. It’s the gentlest Steph thinks she’s ever kissed anyone, a brush of lips without pressure. Cass hums; the pleased sound. So Steph had gotten it right.

“I’ve got to stitch you up,” she murmurs against Cass’ cheek, “but then we’re going to do a lot more of that.”

And this time, when Cass says, “Okay,” it sounds an awful lot like _I love you_.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr [here](https://morgans-starks.tumblr.com/) and twitter [here](https://twitter.com/oopshidaisy)


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